How to Trap a Tycoon, Elizabeth Bevarly [best smutty novels txt] 📗

the record, I don't want security. I want a steady income to get me through my golden years. If security was what I wanted, I would have accepted one of the marriage proposals I received along the way. But I didn't want—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dorsey interrupted. "Marriage proposals? Marriage proposals? As in plural? As in more than one? As if one wouldn't have been enough to set you up the way you wanted to be set up? For life?"

Carlotta gaped at her in clear disbelief. "Marriage would not have set me up," she stated indignantly. "A husband is the last thing I want."

"Carlotta!" Dorsey exclaimed. "What are you talking about? How could you have received marriage proposals over the years and never accepted one? And how could you have never told me about them?"

There was a moment of silence, then, "Well, no offense, Dorsey," Carlotta said, "but the reason I never told you about them was because, quite frankly, they were none of your business."

"What?"

"They were none of your business," her mother repeated softly.

"But…"

Dorsey told herself to let it go, to just be satisfied with Carlotta's explanation, even if she didn't understand it for a moment, and move on. But one question kept circling around and around in her head. And she simply had to know the answer. There was no way she'd be able to leave it behind until she found out for sure.

"Was one of those marriage proposals," she began carefully, "from my father?"

For a moment, her mother didn't reply, only arranged and rearranged her Barbie's lace-trimmed robe until she had it draping dramatically over one shoulder. Just when Dorsey thought she would have to ask the question again—because she intended to keep asking it until she received an honest answer—Carlotta glanced back up again and met her gaze levelly.

"Yes," she finally said. "One of those proposals came from your father."

Dorsey swallowed hard but said nothing, waiting to hear the rest.

"The first time he asked me was when he found out I was pregnant with you," Carlotta said. "I adamantly refused."

"Why?"

"Dorsey, the man was married to a woman who was completely reliant on him, a woman who had no idea how to take care of herself, a woman who would have been left with three young children to raise alone. His primary obligation was rightfully to his family. Not to me."

"What about me?" The question popped out of Dorsey's mouth before she could stop it. She knew it sounded selfish and cold, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to know.

"You," Carlotta said, "were my responsibility. And I made that clear to Reggie."

"But—"

"No buts," her mother interjected. "The world was a different place then, Dorsey. Your father wasn't a strong man, and although his intentions were good, he wouldn't have been able to withstand the consequences of leaving his wife and children to marry his pregnant mistress. It would have ended between us eventually, and it would have ended badly. For all of us."

"But he stayed with you for years after I was born. I remember him."

"Yes, he wanted to be a part of both our lives, and I didn't object to that. But he kept asking me to marry him, kept saying he would leave his wife and children for me and you. I told him no every time. He kept asking, anyway. Finally, I told him that if he asked me again, I'd stop seeing him. He asked again. So I stopped seeing him."

"Oh, Carlotta…"

"I didn't love him. I didn't want him forever. I never wanted anybody forever. I know you can't possibly comprehend that, but for my sake, please try. I like men, Dorsey. All men. I like the way they talk and the way they move and the way they smell and the way they feel curled up next to me in bed. I like chatting with them, dining with them, flirting with them, being with them, in every way imaginable. But I don't want to keep one forever. I don't want to give up that much of myself to a man."

In a way, Dorsey did understand and she respected her mother's conviction. Her mother was right—they were two totally different creatures. And she would never, ever be like her mother. Because she did want to keep a man forever. She did want to give up that much of herself to one. Provided that man was Adam Darien, and he would give as much of himself to her in return.

Then she realized that he already had given as much of himself to her in return, maybe more, because he'd never held any part of himself back from her. He hadn't kept any secrets. He hadn't pretended to be something he wasn't. And he hadn't lied to her about anything.

Dorsey gazed down at her solitary Barbie lying alone in her career coordinates. Carlotta was right. Despite the little plastic smile, she didn't look very happy. And a great career and a social conscience weren't going to be enough keep her warm at night.

"Oh, Carlotta," Dorsey murmured. "What am I going to do?"

* * *

By the time Adam had finished examining Lindy's collection of information relating to Mack and Lauren Grable-Monroe, Drake's had been closed for three hours. Lindy sat at the table across from him—where she had been for the last ninety minutes of those three hours—smoking a cigar and nursing her second snifter of Armagnac , lost in a paperback copy of Dr. Zhivago. He'd heard her sniffling and figured she'd gotten to the part where Lara tells the good doctor to take a hike. It had been reassuring to realize that Lindy was capable of feeling something for somebody.

Her investigator had definitely been thorough. He'd all but recorded Mack's underwear size. Then again, Adam already knew she was size six in panties, size 36B in bras. Happily, he had some information that the investigator didn't.

Contrary to what he'd told Lindy, Adam didn't actually read every word of Mack's notes. He wanted to,